


If you must then start to cry

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FIx It, Introspection, Partial amnesia, Post Maveth, Ward is Hellfire, discussion of nature vs nurture, including sexual ones, ish, meanwhile coulson got what he deserved, not remembering significant experiences, smut with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What made a human? Was it his or her genes, the biological code of potential for brown hair and sharp cheekbones and proud chin she was kissing? Or was it the memories, the experience that made him and broke him and she loved him despite it and because of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you must then start to cry

**Author's Note:**

> A fix it fic that comes down to smut, basically. Because important people asked nicely.

Skye didn't want to be here. It was some kind of a perverse joke to sit here, at this very same bar, in the same hotel as nearly three years ago. She was a starry eyed rookie and Grant Ward was her hero whom she desperately wanted to hold close and protect at all costs.

 

Three years later, it wasn't just the long hair (and sometimes the old name) that she wished she still had.

 

It was funny how so many frustrations and desires were wrapped in the same man. Ward ( _James_ ) walked in, much like she walked in three years ago and when he saw her, his face slowly melted into a smile. It was him, only it wasn't, and it was all so completely strange, but that was maybe normal for someone who was literally reborn. He raised his arms as he was coming closer – no gauntlets, see? - and she smiled a little at him to offer encouragement. Being reborn, in his case, came in the same package with substantial retrograde amnesia and pyrokinetic abilities he still didn't completely master. (Skye was almost able to laugh at the irony of things right now – _she was his SO_. Not only was she teaching him how to punch and avoid being hit, she was also trying to teach him how not to fear himself and the flames that came from his palms.)

 

Today sucked. Seeing that _thing_ wearing Coulson's face sucked. Grant didn't understand _why_ it sucked as much as it did, he was unaware of all the different, complicated aspects of the situation, but he came down here looking for her nevertheless.

 

Some things were still the same, it seemed. He sat onto the barstool next to her and gave her another one of those semi – smiles that faded into background as he carefully arranged his face not to give away too much. So he was naturally guarded. Just as she expected. It was like getting to know him all over again and discover that he didn't differ all that much from his old self, not when it came to basics. He was still disciplined, as order and hard work came like something natural to him; he kept his feelings close to his chest and he looked at her when he thought she wouldn't see. (The last bit made her heart ache in ways she desperately tried to ignore. _No_. That was a bad idea.)

 

“Hey,” he said. “How are you doing?”

 

Skye raised her glass. Inside there wasn't enough scotch for her liking. She shouldn't get drunk, but she wanted to. She wanted it very, very badly.

 

“As good as you'd expect,” she said, trying to stay away from sarcasm she'd launch at anyone else. Coulson was still the guy that killed him. In a strange and ironical way, he opened up a new path for him too. And Grant was now trying to help her defeat It – Coulson.

 

Skye wanted to get very drunk, very very badly.

 

He tried another smile as he gestured to the bartender to bring him the same drink as hers. “I'm very sorry,” he said.

 

“It wasn't your fault,” Skye replied.

 

“Right,” he said. The slump of his shoulders was an aching sight. She remembered the lost look on him after the beserker incident, she remembered how he looked like a person who wanted to run away from his own mind. Right now she wanted that for herself; she wanted to forget it all, Hydra and betrayal and everything that followed, she wanted to forget the homicidal Inhuman inside Coulson's body and the vault underneath the base and the way Simmons and Hunter still suspiciously eyed Ward (James.)

 

(She would never get used to that name.

 

Also, every time he said hers, part of her wished it was her old name he was saying.)

 

Skye wished someone was here to hug _her_.

 

(Well technically, there was. Only she made sure the individual in question wouldn't follow her to this bar – or any bar anywhere. Hugs with one sided desire were not good enough any more.)

 

“I feel like it was,” Ward said then. “My fault, I mean,” he gave her an earnest look.

 

Her brain just stopped. He was smiling awkwardly, just like Grant smiled, and she was trying to process all of this and draw a line. Somewhere where old Grant ended and this new Grant begun (James, as he called himself, because he woke up in St James hospital and didn't know anything about himself).

 

The thing was, Skye (Daisy) couldn't draw that line.

 

Next to her Ward ( _James_ ) smiled and raised a glass.

 

She could see the guy who trained her and the guy who couldn't take a compliment and didn't know how to give one and got all flustered when he wanted to ask her out; and she could see the man who betrayed her, the man who broke her heart and her spirit and her trust. The man who pretty much pushed her towards her change,the man who ended up defining her. In all the ways that mattered. He marked every aspect of her life; he was the driving force behind her transformation. She did it all for herself, but she did it _because_ of him.

 

Skye ( _Daisy_ ) couldn't do this – she wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him or to hold him close (because right now? He was everything she wished he _could_ have been).

 

She opted out for the third option. He taught her well after all.

 

“I... need to go to the toilet,” she said and he politely nodded. Skye could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

 

She stayed there for ten minutes, trying to sort out her thoughts. When she couldn't she reached the simplest solution at hand – act like his SO. And with that in mind she walked out, only to find him in the company of that new communications tech. He was grinning freely, like he never grinned at her now, and the girl was leaning ever closer and into his personal space and he didn't seem to mind.

 

Skye swallowed. With Grant she had baggage, even though he didn't remember it. _She_ did, and Grant was aware of that, and that was enough. Looking at him now Skye realized they would never have a real chance, because the past she couldn't shake off and he didn't know about would always hang above their heads.

 

Feeling openly jealous like she didn't feel in a long time Skye paid for a whole bottle of scotch and headed outside the bar.

 

 

 

*

 

A week passed but she was unable to shake the mere sight of that girl grinning at him. The fact that none of this was girl's fault didn't help. Skye couldn't pass her in the lab without feeling a stab like sensation in the middle of her gut, and she couldn't not resent her.

 

Skye turned to Grant's usual method of stress relief, and thought that she was becoming more and more like him. No – she thought – she _has_ become _him_. The process was completed at some unknown point when she chose compartmentalizing over actual dealing with stuff and acting on her wishes due to scruples or someone else desires or expectations... or whatever. But the boxing bag suited her needs just fine.

She kicked the bag, realizing that she was pushing herself too far. _Then_ she realized another thing. Grant was standing not too far away, regarding her a bit worriedly, and his expression was reminiscent of days old and never forgotten (or gotten over).

 

Skye grabbed the punching bag. Dammit. She hated this.

 

“We had a training session scheduled,” he observed, obviously noting her sweat stained top. He didn't remember his life, but he was still sticking to schedules and right now, his gaze seemed to be laced with slight disapproval because he actually thought she wore herself out.

 

She wanted to laugh at him and knock him over the head (old him), but she pulled herself together and told herself she was his SO and it was her duty to train him.

 

(She has become him. In every possible aspect, right down to the part where she watched how he moved, looking for a sign of muscle memory resurfacing and denying herself the need to see his _body_ instead.)

 

“Use your height,” she instructed. “You're tall and you're heavy. You can knock me over,” she assured.

 

“Heh, sure,” he said. He was a beginner now compared to her. Hilariously – a rookie. His mind and his body didn't remember any of his fighting skills, but he did posses the talent. He was a damn fast learner.

 

She was knocked over on his third try, and just as she instructed, Grant had used his bigger, heavier body to pin her down and keep her under him.

 

The mat was cold and hard, and he was radiating heat and panting above her. She smirked and he smirked in response, obviously pleased with himself. Then she started laughing because he looked smug, exactly like the way she felt when she threw him onto the floor for the first time in their training. Something in her chest was dissolving even as he still held her wrists above her head. When her laughing fit ceased she was finally able to see his face, looking at her.

 

Just the way she used to look at him.

 

With longing and hope and all the warm things that filled her chest.

 

There seemed to be one thing about her that didn't change – she was still able to make rash decisions she would probably regret later. So she moved forward and kissed him – which felt more like smashing her face against his and pressing her lips into him hard enough to make a point and quick enough so her mind wouldn't assert itself – not before he did his best to kiss her in return.

 

Skye's mind ceased to work. Grant let go of her wrists, but he didn't have to keep her pinned to the spot any more. One of his hands was supporting him, the other was carefully holding the side of her face as he did his best to match her kisses.

 

She was clawing at him and he was panting, and she was clutching him as hard as she could and spreading her legs beneath him and then he pressed down against her and she could feel him harden.... and that was when he pulled away.

 

“Oh... oh God, I'm sorry,” he said, panting and sitting up and Skye wanted to scream. Not at him, but in sheer frustration. But he was looking embarrassed and blushing raw and she sat up, feeling confused. He tried not to look down at his tenting sweatpants and failed.

 

“There's... nothing to apologize for,” she said. She _did_ spread her legs.

 

Except.

 

He didn't have any muscle memory of his fighting skills. All of his knowledge and experience was gone somehow.

 

So he probably didn't remember having sex with someone either.

 

She stared at him as multiple realizations hit her at the same time, and suddenly she was the one feeling embarrassed – how on earth didn't she think of this before and act more thoughtful?

 

“If anything, _I'm_ sorry,” she started, softening her voice and hoping to achieve the same with her expression, but then she noticed his, and she could see a hollow eyed, bearded faced man before her again, and even though he didn't remember any of that, she did. “I, no, I didn't mean it like that. I, uh, I practically uh, attacked you there.”

 

“It's,” he stammered, still trying to look anywhere but her and trying to hide his own emotions. Funny, Skye thought, even though he was better at that before, she could always see through him. “It's okay. I shouldn't have -”

 

“I'm not sorry about the kiss,” Skye hurried. “The kiss was great.”

 

“Oh,” he breathed, not able to suppress a tiny smile for a moment. “But?”

 

Oh God. This felt like dealing with the old him so often.

 

Skye took a deep breath. Maybe there wasn't a line except the one she drew herself.

 

“No buts,” she said. “I really... liked the kiss.”

 

He exhaled. Long and slow and tried not to look hopeful. Skye thought about where she wanted to draw that line and if she wanted to look at every girl on the base and wonder if they got to enjoy what she denied herself. Ultimately, she wondered if she wanted to be like old Ward in this regard too and deny them any opportunity until it was too far and too late.

 

“James,” she said softly and purposefully, giving respect to the new name just as she demanded people to do the same for her. He looked as she scooted closer on her knees and touched his jaw, much like that one time, a lifetime ago, and it struck her that he looked at her the same way still – with hope, so much hope. “I suppose you didn't get to do this a lot?” she asked, her lips close to his, and he shook his head.

 

“No,” he said.

 

“Is this okay?” she asked. He nodded, his eyes set on her lips. She let them connect, softly this time and felt him return the pressure and heard him moan from the back of his throat. It was the same sound she remembered, fragile and soft. Skye framed his stubbly cheeks with her palms, kissed him again, kissed him more, until he was pulling at her to get closer. “It's okay,” she said when she straddled his lap and he seemed breathless while she made herself comfortable there. He was still hard and she could feel him twitch beneath her. She rewarded him with a moan and a tiny bite to his lower lip. His hips jerked but other than that he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He pulled away, leaning against the wall behind him and panted.

 

Skye smiled. He returned it, trying not to look embarrassed. She wanted nothing more but to take his hand and push it into her panties and show him just how _not_ embarrassed he should be feeling. Instead of that she pressed against him and gave him a teasing grin and half lidded look.

 

“Would you mind if I helped you out with this...,” she rocked her hips against him, “situation?”

 

He swallowed hard. “You really don't have to.”

 

Skye kissed him, abandoning the sweetness of previous kisses for parted lips and tongue moving inside his mouth.

 

“What if I _want_ to?”

 

He was still fighting that smile and embarrassment on his face.

 

“Oh, I don't – I didn't...,” he was saying and Skye had a pretty good idea what he was trying to tell her.

 

When she leaned close to his ear and whispered inside, his whole body shuddered, and her own bones seemed to become hot and liquid, just like her thoughts.

 

“I'm pretty sure you did, you just don't remember,” she moved back to look at him and decided to kiss his miserable expression away. “But what is new life for, if not making new memories?”

 

*

 

She knew she shouldn't have been nervous. She was the experienced one in this act and hilariously he was the rookie, but when he pushed her against the door of her quarters, Skye's heart was pounding in her ears.

 

It seemed he was quick to master the art of kissing, or maybe ti was just the fact that it was him – his mouth, his taste, his _sounds,_ just like Skye remembered him, that made her so weak in the knees.

 

The workout clothes were sweaty, but easy to take off. Skye made a point to start with her own, first her top and then her bra and he seemed distracted enough to let her strip him from his shirt. Then it was her turn to stare, even though she saw him shirtless plenty of times.

 

Because this was the first time when she could come close and touch and kiss, and wrap her lips around his nipples. He, on his part, moaned helplessly as she palmed him hard and ready in his pants.

 

“Daisy, if you keep this up -”

 

Skye paused, her hand still on his dick. She rubbed him and the slipped her hand inside his underwear. He hissed and moaned.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Yes,” he breathed.

 

“Call me Skye.”

 

*

 

He let her undress him completely and sat on the bed as she got rid of her bottoms. The way he looked at her was hard to describe when she climbed the bed and straddled him again was hard to describe. He was hesitant to touch her until she put his hands on her sides, guided them to her breasts; closed her eyes and moved his right hand between her legs.

 

“There,” she said as his fingers slipped inside her.

 

He groaned, sitting up and pressing his face against her breasts. He seemed to find a good rhythm a slow, building towards more.

 

“Is... is that okay?” he asked while leaving a trail of kisses along her collar bone. Skye struggled to speak, resorting to a breathless nod. She met his dazed eyes and a barely there smile and rocked her hips into his hand.

 

She answered him with a kiss that left them both panting. She paused for breath, her forehead against his and wrapped her fingers around him.

 

“Are you ready?” she asked. He swallowed tightly and nodded.

 

She held a breath and so did he. She took him in slowly, so he could feel it, every inch of their joined flesh; so _she_ could see every flicker of emotion on his face. He pushed his face against her neck, biting the spot where it connected with her shoulder and dug his fingers into the skin of her back. Like she was his anchor. She took him all the way in, closing her eyes against the pain – pleasure of having him inside. A thought crossed her mind as she rolled her hips and they parted to look at each other again.

 

What made a human? Was it his or her genes, the biological code of potential for brown hair and sharp cheekbones and proud chin she was kissing? Or was it the memories, the experience that made him and broke him and she loved him despite it and because of it? Was any of the familiar things from the old him? Was she saying hello or bidding the last goodbye here? Did any of her Grant survive?

 

As if he could sense her thoughts, his hands framed her face and she was taken back to that moment at Providence and how much she wanted to open herself to keep him inside. And in a way she did, she preserved each little thing, the tiny noises he made when he kissed her (same noises he was making now as they moved against each other, testing the boundaries where each of them ended and the lines blurred); the way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn't see, the way he tried to protect even when it wasn't in his best interest.

 

“Lay back,” she instructed, suddenly ruled by the desire to move them both away from this point. What has been done was done. Grant (James) obeyed, looking up at her with trust she once did not deserve. She would do so much better by him this time around.

 

With her eyes drifting closed and her hand between her legs she moved above him until they were both moaning and barely holding onto the last threads until his spine arched and his eyes fell shut. Skye could feel him grip her ass as he came, hot and long and intense and she bowed to kiss his face until he came down from the high.

 

She let him catch his breath, snuggled against his side. His expression had turned from dazed to giddy, but when he finally shot her a look, he gave her a sheepish smile.

 

“Sorry?” he said.

 

“For what?” she asked even though she had a good guess.

 

“For not, uh -,” his vague gesture and his face were ridiculous and reminded her so much of Grant – I – never – lose – at – boardgames – Ward. “For rushing to finish.”

 

Skye kissed his chest, basking in the afterglow of the sex, even though the need between her legs was there. She turned on her side, offering him a splendid view of her breasts and observed how his eyes went there.

 

“That's a matter that can be easily fixed,” she smirked, “Did _you_ have fun?”

 

He chuckled and covered her right breast with his palm. “I think you know exactly how much fun it was,” he said.

 

Just like that they were kissing again.

 

Grant wasn't just a fast learner, he had confidence in his new skills as well. Skye was under him the next moment, spreading her legs to allow his fingers inside and moaning when he put his mouth on her breast. Just when she was about to come he removed his hand in favor of his dick, still entering her carefully.

 

“Good?”

 

“God, yes,” she said. “So close.”

 

He smiled.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Skye rolled her hips into his.

 

“Move,” she moaned. “Just fuck me.”

 

And fuck her he did, slow and deep at first, faster and harder as she begged, stealing her breath and sucking her breasts and flipping her over to fuck her from behind. She came screaming into the pillow, feeling like her entire body was expanding with heat, like every experience ever was burned out, scorched to ashes leaving room only for him. A moment later he came again and they slumped in a heap of limbs onto the sheets.

 

*

 

When she woke after dozing off in his arms, she decided it was only fair to make his first sexual experience complete with a nice blowjob.

 

After which she spent an unknown amount of time with his head between her legs, coming twice into his mouth.

 

 

*

 

Later they lay on a new set of sheets, snuggled close.

 

“Do you remember any of it?” she asked. “Being... Grant?”

 

He took a deep breath and buried his nose against her shoulder.

 

“Yes,” he said after some hesitation. “It's... just brief flashes. It's... disconnected. They don't make much sense except I know they're... they were _me_.”

 

Skye wasn't going to ask any more. She knew how he was when it came to reopening old wounds. However he carried on unprompted. “Cheesy as it is, I know I remember you.”

 

“How?”

 

Another pause.

 

“Because that was the only thing that... _he_ couldn't beat. So in a way you saved me. What was worth saving, I presume.”

 

Skye turned to face him, ready to protest. He shook his head.

 

“You deserved a proper chance,” she argued.

 

“Isn't this a chance?” he asked.

 

“It is,” she said. An unspoken _but_ was hanging on her lips and even though she didn't say it, he still knew it was there.

 

“Dying for my sins _has_ to be a punishment enough,” he said. “Maybe there's a reason why I don't remember them.”

 

Skye held her breath. She was almost too afraid to hear what was coming next.

 

“Who's to say that I wouldn't repeat them if I did? Did remember, I mean.”

 

“It was....,” Skye took a deep breath to try to fight sudden tears. “I don't know. I was a jerk and I never bothered to ask. But I remember everything you said and everything you didn't say and I think – I think Grant – you – couldn't move on because it was holding you back. _Dragging_ you back,” she said.

 

“That... makes sense,” he decided. She stared at his chest, his living, breathing, solid chest and pulled down the sheet covering him until she exposed his right hip. No scar. There was no trace of where she marked him in her anger. She closed her eyes, realizing she was thankful.

 

“Honestly, there are worst ways this could have turned out,” he said. “Don't you think? How many men get a chance to re-do their lives?”

 

“I don't know,” Skye said, pressing her face against his solid, steady heartbeat. There were so many things still wrong in the world, but for the first time in a long time she felt right with herself. “But I really don't care.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
